Pigment
by xiaoyings
Summary: Sasuke is pestered by his coworkers, and there's a new girl across the hall. [Modern/Art AU]
1. Chapter 1

**pigment** (or, a really self-indulgent modern/art!au starring the baes)

to hell with canon tbh

i. in which Sasuke is pestered by his coworkers, and there's a new girl across the hall.

###

He crushes the last cigarette on the table.

So he's finally down to three sticks a day. Six months ago smoking a pack a day, cutting down to this number would have been unthinkable. But he's Uchiha Sasuke after all; he can make anything happen he set his eyes on.

Or at least that was the plan.

He doesn't want to but he hears the conversation in the lobby.

"Daddy, I'm fine. You don't have to check up on me every hour. Do you have an idea what time it is?!"

No response. It's a full minute before the voice speaks again. "Yes, dad. Okay. I'll call you back tomorrow — " a pause, " — wait, it's already tomorrow. Later, I guess… Yes, I love you, too, daddy. Tell mom hi from me."

Instinctively, Sasuke glances at the watch on his wrist. A little past 1 am. _Huh._

He tries but finds he's unable to go back to the paper in front of him. He presses his fingertips to his forehead to soothe the crease he knows has formed there, remembering the lecture his team leader had given him and his coworkers (but mostly him) earlier.

"The blueprint was needed _yesterday,_ Uchiha. What do you mean it's not ready?"

Fuck him, to be honest, Sasuke says loudly... in his head. Hyuuga Neji and his slave-driving ways. Whatever, he could slack off for a month and still get more work done than Kiba and Naruto combined.

He stares at the crushed cigarette butt he just noticed he's still holding. _Great,_ now he wants another smoke.

Sighing, he takes the coat he's dumped on the couch when he came home six hours ago. He could use a walk, maybe some coffee (which he forgot to pick up at the grocer's) and takeout. Some place should still be open.

He shuts the door behind him quietly, and with a deft movement slips the keys in the deep pocket of his coat.

Dark eyes meet angry blue ones. _Hers._

"Hey grumpy face."

"Hn. Princess."

As far as he knows she's an artist of some sort or other, comes back at odd hours in the night or morning. Some part of her, usually her arms or the knees of her jeans, is always covered in paint or clay or whatever artists use these days. Today though she's wearing _clean_ clothing — _thank god_ — crop top and jeans, hair tied in a sloppy bun at the back of her head. Her lips are an unnatural shade of red, as usual. On the floor by her feet are a duffel bag and three brown shopping bags with their contents spilling.

"I'm locked out," she says, somewhat defensively, though Sasuke hasn't said anything.

"It's rude to stare, grumpy," she adds, eyes narrowed, "especially if you're not going to offer help, and knowing you, you won't, so."

Sasuke smirks. "Have a great night, Princess," he calls over his shoulder as he makes his way to the elevator.

Ino sticks her tongue out at him. It's only been a month since the she moved into the apartment across the hall, and they're already calling each other names.

###

The nickname thing started at the tenants' meeting on her first week. The landlord, a peculiar 30-something man named Guy who used to teach Phys Ed at a local high school, had asked Sasuke a question, to which he only grunted in response (to be fair, the question had been, "Don't you think so, Sasuke- _kun_?!" The older man's irritatingly masculine voice gave him something of a headache. )

Ino, who had been in the seat in front of him the whole time, turned to him, head cocked to one side, sly grin spreading on candy lips, "Well, aren't you a grumpy one." She'd called him Grumpy since.

He got his payback a few days later, when he bumped into her and her father on the way to the elevator. Father and daughter were both carrying shopping bags and seemed engaged in a serious discussion.

"Well, I couldn't let my princess starve, could I," her dad, who had the same flaxen hair and milky complexion, was saying with a stern look on his face. Ino pouted and blushed, muttered something that sounded like "not a little girl anymore" and fixed her angry blue eyes on the floor.

When they had gotten off the elevator, Ino whirled around to face Sasuke. She held up a finger in front of his face. "Don't even think of saying it."

"Sure," he scoffed, " _princess._ "

She let out a long groan, looking like she was ready to pull out her hair or kick him in the shin or both, but her father called out to her before she could do anything.

"Hurry, Ino, the food is getting cold."

They parted in the hallway, glaring at each other.

###

Sasuke presses the button for the ground floor. When the elevator doors close he tries to remember what he had for dinner. The doors open again before he realizes he hasn't had _any_. He nods curtly at the guard who greets him as he walks out of the building. He pulls the collar of his coat close to his face, and wishes Akimichi's is still open at this hour.

Lucky for him, it is. The place is near empty save for a few familiar faces. Choji is fixing something behind the counter. On a table sits Shikamaru, half-dozing off listening to a babbling Naruto. Sasuke went to school with these guys. Now he's working with Naruto in the same company. He's not really sure what Shikamaru does for a living.

Naturally they turn to look at him the minute he enters the shop. He nods to them in greeting and lowers himself on the empty seat beside Naruto.

"Oi, you pulling an all-nighter, too?" Naruto asks.

He answers with a shrug.

"What will you be having, Sasuke?" Choji calls out from behind the counter.

"Just the usual, Choji."

His bulky friend shakes his head grimly. "I'm sorry, I think can only serve you ramen now. Pops has put away all the other ingredients and I can't wake him up to — "

 _Why bother asking then?_ he wants to scream. Sasuke glances at his watch. 01:35. _Seriously who eats ramen at this hour_? He sighs. "Fine."

Choji's face lights up as he disappears into the kitchen.

Sasuke turns to Naruto. "Is Inuzuka back yet? He's bringing in the final floor plan?"

Naruto frowns. "Yeah, about that. Left him a couple of voice mails. He's supposed to have been back this afternoon, but I haven't heard from him. Maybe he got held up? Okinawa is a long way from Tokyo."

 _This does_ not _bode well,_ Sasuke thinks, his expression darkening. "You do remember the full building design needs to be submitted in the morning. Which is approximately six hours from now."

"I know, I know!" Naruto says, grabbing his head with both hands exasperatedly. "Neji's going to kill us!"

 _Kill you, idiot,_ Sasuke wants to say, but he knows Naruto isn't far from wrong. "Do you have any back-ups? Did Inuzuka leave behind sketches or drafts or…anything we can use?"

"I found these on his desk," Naruto answers, picking up his briefcase. He fumbles with a few sheets of paper and drops them on the table in front of Sasuke.

"These aren't very helpful," Sasuke says, scanning the papers with a frown. "Did he not leave behind actual measurements and — "

This is bad, really bad. This was their team's first big project for an important client, and Neji had made it clear — too clear — that there would be no room for mistakes, _any_ mistake.

And not having the blueprints ready in time for the deadline will be a very, very grave mistake. He needs to think fast.

"Okay, do you have access to Inuzuka's computer at the office? If he's not a complete idiot we will find something useful there."

"Yeah, I don't think his computer is password-protected. If it is, I'm a hundred percent sure the password is 'AKAMARU' because he uses that for everything. Akamaru is this big fluffy white dog, he's adorable, I don't know why he's called Akamaru, though, he doesn't even have red fur, anyway —"

Sasuke gets up and pulls out his phone from the pocket of his jeans. "Yeah, listen, I'm going to call Neji. He's going to know anyway and if we're going to fix this, we're going to need all the help we can get."

He calls out to Choji from the counter. "Choji! I'm going to have to cancel that order."

Choji's head pops up on the kitchen window, eyes narrowed. "I'm already making it."

Sasuke shrugs. "Feed it to Shikamaru. I'll pay for it, anyway."

"Okay."

Sasuke drops a few bills on the table and drags Naruto by the sleeve toward the exit. Shikamaru glares at him just as he closes the door.

"I already ate."

"Not my problem." Sasuke turns to the distressed blond beside him. "Come on, we need to get back to the office."

###

"Hey, mopey."

She's gotten herself locked out of her own apartment again, and as usual, she crashes at his.

"The building manager doesn't pick up after 12," she explains. "If I waited for him, I'd be locked out until morning. Do you want me sleep in the lobby? Or worse, in the streets?"

Yamanaka Ino, master manipulator. She says this all with a grin, because she knows he won't refuse her.

But that doesn't mean he can't be grumpy.

Neji doesn't look up from the pile of folders he's half-buried his nose into. Wisps of his fine brown hair have escaped the loose ponytail at the top of his head, and he doesn't have the time to brush them away. That's sad, in many ways.

"Let's grab some dinner," says the blonde lying on her back on his couch. Her sandaled feet dangle over one armrest. She watches the TV on mute because he doesn't like noise when he's working. "I've been sitting here for the last three hours with you ignoring me."

"It's only been thirty minutes, Ino."

"You know what I mean."

Know _her_ he did.

He and Ino had been friends since childhood. They grew up in the same village, went to the same high school and university in a nearby city. She was two years younger, and his friends at uni teased him for having such a "cute girl" for a _kouhai._ He'd never admit it, but he turned down (forcefully, on occasion) every bribe and request from his classmates to be introduced to her. Their school days passed just like that: her, being effortlessly conspicuous no matter the situation, and him, silently keeping the idiots away.

They had each pursued a different direction in terms of career. Neji grew up in the large Hyuuga compound, with its traditional houses and intricately-designed shrines and memorials, a stark contrast to the modern apartments popular in the rest of the town. Not surprisingly, he developed an interest in buildings and an eye for structures early on. He was the smartest pupil in his grade, and, equipped with a natural talent for measurements and computing, he entered a prestigious university and graduated with a double degree in architecture and maths, both in flying colors. (Talk about overachieving, Ino used to say.)

He decided to move to Tokyo for his first job. He was scouted by a successful, private firm after one of his former teachers, Hatake Kakashi, recommended him. His family did not like the idea of him moving, however. They had expected him to stay behind, being the oldest of the third-generation Hyuuga offsprings. He was third in line to succeed his uncle as head of the clan, but clan politics repulsed him. He had always dreamed of moving to a larger city and making a name for himself by being the best at his craft, not because of the name he'd inherited from a group of people who didn't seem to bother about him as a person anyway.

Ino is the only relic from his past he had willingly kept, if relics were supposed to be loud and colorful and indubitably alive, not some muted washed up thing from the past. For as long as he could remember she had been all sunshine and energy, a screaming mural smack dab in the middle of a grey crumbling wall. She had always been artistic, even as a child — he couldn't count the times her mother looked about to cry when Ino went home with Crayola stains on a new white Sunday dress. Later, she experimented with other media: oil paint, charcoal, water color. In college, she dabbled in sculpture the same time as her then boyfriend, the inexplicable Sai. These days she sticks to large canvases and oil painting, but from time to time she also makes pottery. The tiny sky blue tea cup sitting on his desk right now had been a gift from her. It was one of her very first creations.

"I can't _get dinner_ ," he says, imitating her voice, knowing that irritated her to no end, "I'm working. And besides, it's almost 2 am. No place is going to be open now."

Ino shifts her position on her couch. She's about to say something but is interrupted by Neji's phone. Neji holds up a hand before he answers.

"Make this quick, Uchiha, I'm busy."

###

Neji had been in the company two years longer than everyone else in his team. Working nine hours and beyond on some days gave him a constant headache and whatever free time he doesn't spend on lecturing his juniors he spends nursing his head with a cup of tea and some aspirin.

He had been given his own team close to eight months ago. Finally, after what seemed like centuries of slaving away at the far end of the privately owned architectural firm, he was given a rag-tag team of new employees straight out of an industrial arts college in the city. One of them, fortunately, was something of a prodigy, or so he heard, some kid who graduated with near-perfect scores in most of his classes.

Neji _would_ know a thing or two about prodigies — after all, he was _the_ prodigy of a few years back.

The new talent, Uchiha Sasuke, reminded him of himself actually: the same dark hair, flawless academic record, and reputable family. The same irritatingly icy demeanor, permanent grimace, and unnerving popularity with the ladies. Not that he was happy about that last part; more than anything having his female coworkers swoon over his every word just added to the perpetual ache in his head.

Even Tenten, the most levelheaded person he knew in the office, had nudged him playfully — _painfully_ , he might add, girl is stronger than she looks — in the ribs on Uchiha's first day, going, "Well, if he isn't the cutie," much to his irritation.)

###

Ino sits up from the couch suddenly, face mildly interested. Over what, he isn't sure exactly.

Neji presses his fingers on his temple. "What do you mean Inuzuka bailed? Tell him to get his ass back to Tokyo. If you have to drag him back here yourself, Sasuke, do it. We are going to finish this project on time. Being delayed is not an option — "

He pauses, listening to the voice on the other end. "I'll look it over. I'll meet you and Uzumaki at the office in twenty."

He hangs up. He turns to Ino, about to tell her they would have to do a raincheck on that dinner, when he saw the expression on her face.

"Uchiha…Sasuke?" she says, eyebrows raised. "Guy with the same name lives in my building. He stays in the flat across the hall. You work with him?"

Neji frowns. "Yes. Is he bothering you?"

Ino grins, crossing her arms. "Nah, wouldn't touch him with a ten-foot pole. He's kind of a prick. But he does remind me of someone..."

Neji's frown deepens as he stands up to gather his things. _This is bad, very bad._

Of all he had to remind Ino of, it better not be Sai. No, not him, because that pale motherfucker could only mean trouble.

"… you know, he reminds me of Sai."


	2. Chapter 2

**pigment** (or, a modern/art!au starring the baes)

Tenten + Temari + Ino = squad goals tbh

ii. in which unlikely bonds are formed.

###

There was another flat, similar to the one Sasuke and Ino lived in, a couple of streets over. One of its previous occupants had been another blonde girl: Temari, somewhat tall, didn't talk much. In fact no one would have known her name if not for the overenthusiastic tenant at the end of the hall who had a penchant for screaming other people's names by way of greeting.

 _Temari-san! Good morning!_

 _You're home late today, Temari-san! Long day at work? Oh, pardon me I see you have company! Have a great evening!_

Temari honestly had nothing against Rock Lee, but the guy definitely needs to dial it down. She had stayed at that apartment (a friend's) for nearly three months, when she and her brother Kankuro got into a fight. In a fit of rage, she had stormed out of their mansion in the affluent Den-en-chofu area in southern Tokyo. She arrived at an expensive hotel a little past midnight, only to be forced to leave when she found out he had frozen all her cards and accounts. She phoned a former university classmate who lived nearby, asked her if she could maybe crash for the time being while she figured out how to navigate her new penniless state. And although they had never been particularly close in school, Tenten cheerfully agreed to let her stay at her place.

Temari in college was the socialite-princess everyone had been too scared of to approach; Tenten, on the other hand, was the athlete-extraordinaire. Naturally, they had different circles. They did strike up conversation from time to time during that one boring class they had together. They rolled their eyes at the group of boys who called out to them from afar.

"You know, for a designer-wearing person, you're not so bad," Tented had told her during graduation.

"You're pretty cool too," Temari replied with a sneer, "you know, for a jock."

That had made Tenten crack up so hard she had tears in her eyes after. "See you around, Temari-san."

They had lost touch after graduation — not that either of them were _keeping-in-touch_ people — but Tenten did mention having a place all to herself in Tokyo. Luckily when Temari rang, she was home.

"Oh hey, Temari-san. What a surprise. Can I help you with anything?"

"Yes, well — " Temari hesitated, but her pay phone time was running out and she didn't have any coins left. "Um, could I crash at your place for a bit? I'm in a bit of a bind."

"Sure, no problem. If you tell me where you are right now, I could give you directions to my apartment."

Temari's head reeled. "Tenten-san, are you always this accepting of strangers? That's dangerous, you know."

Surprisingly, this only made the other girl crack up. "Nah, just this time. Besides, you're not a stranger. Consider us — well, aren't we old buddies?"

Not really, Temari thought, but she didn't want to ruin her chances of having a roof over her head at least for the night.

Tenten's place wasn't glamorous. In fact, it was a shabby single-girl's apartment in a not-so-fashionable district of the city. Her building housed several working youth like her, living off convenience store noodles and the occasional can of beer, which Tenten was quick to offer her guest.

Temari politely refused.

"You sure?" Tenten asked, opening the can herself. "Ah, I know! You don't drink this kind of beer, do you?" As she took a swig, hair fell from the loose bun atop her head. She tucked it behind her ear in one swift motion. Her own teasing made her laugh. "Never mind, I was only joking. You can have the couch. Normally, I'd be more hospitable but I have a real important meeting to attend to tomorrow. I can't risk having an aching back, or a colleague of mine gets on my case."

This _colleague_ turned out to be one Hyuuga Neji, or as Tenten sometimes describes him, "Mr. Bossypants himself." Tenten showed Temari his picture on her phone.

"He's not bad-looking," Temari comments.

Tenten makes a funny face, eyes narrowed. "Seriously? He drives half the ladies in the building mad with that face of his. Not your type, huh?"

Temari shrugs, blowing smoke from between pursed lips. "I don't really have a type."

"Oh?" Tenten watches the other girl with an amused expression. "Is that so?"

Temari crushes her cigarette on the paper plate Tenten made into a makeshift ash tray for her when she moved in. Tenten doesn't smoke.

"I'm not in the mood to talk about it, so don't even bother."

Tenten leans back into her chair, arms crossed behind her head. "Eh, if you say so. Just, I think you should go out more. On dates, I mean. It would do you good, maybe you won't be this down and depressing all the time." She grins.

"What's all this fuss about dating anyhow? You fancy Mr. Bossypants or something?"

Tenten laughs a hearty laugh that makes the ashes on the paper plate tremble. "Neji? Nah. Not my type. He prefers blondes anyway. Or so I heard."

###

The first time they met was at some party Tenten's company had thrown in honor of a project they had just closed. Tenten had invited Temari with the intention of finding him an eligible bachelor among her coworkers, but really there was only one she had in mind.

The bespoke bachelor, Hyuuga Neji, who looked like some elven prince from the movies (long hair, slightly pointy ears, a sullen expression) entered the venue with a group of younger-looking men in tow. Two of them were all goofy grins and loud remarks made at some thing or other. The other, who kind of resembled Neji, but with darker hair and eyes and a more brooding air about him, walked wordlessly behind the others.

Tenten, dressed in a loose frock that nevertheless showed off the well-formed muscles of her legs, approached the group, and with a whisper in Neji's ear nodded in the direction of the bar, where Temari was nursing a gin-and-tonic.

Neji said something, which made Tenten hit him on the shoulder. He sighed and made his way over to the bar while Tenten took the rest of the group by the sleeve and collar and shoved a drink into their hands.

Neji sat noiselessly on the seat beside Temari. He ordered a whiskey, on the rocks.

"Can't hold your liquor?" Temari asked. She was feeling a bit buzzed herself, but that was probably because of the meaningless chatter and drunken flirting she'd been hearing all night than her drink.

"I don't like parties," Neji answered.

Temari hummed. Not quite the talker, as Tenten had warned. Plus he seemed to suck all the enthusiasm in the space nearest him, Temari observed. Guess you can't always have the looks and the pleasing personality.

Neji pulled out a mobile phone from his pants pocket. He frowned at the something on the screen before stuffing it back into his pocket. He downed his drink in one go and ordered another.

They exchanged a few more sentences after that. Later, the brooding guy from Neji's team approached the bar, a deep frown on his face.

"I'm going home," he announced, plain and simple. Neji waved him away with a look that Temari could swear was almost envy. "See you Monday, Uchiha."

Uchiha brought his eyes to where Temari was seated, as if he only just noticed her there. He seemed confused for a split second but gave her an almost imperceptible nod before turning on his heels out of the hall.

"Charming and polite, isn't he," Temari remarked. "Reminds me of someone."

Neji only grunted in response.

###

Back in his apartment building, Sasuke couldn't help but notice the abandoned brown bag in front of the blonde girl's flat. A stray cat is pawing at some fallen-over cans.

He pushes his door open maybe an inch, and then shuts it again. _What's gotten into me._ He walks over to the green door across his, and knocks. "Don't leave your stuff lying in the hallway. It's attracting stray animals."

He waits a while, listens for a shuffling from behind the door. From what he's glimpsed of the inside of her apartment, it takes the blonde several seconds to get to her door, owing to all the clutter.

No answer. He presses his ear to the door. "Yamanaka."

Odd. She usually made such a racket. He contemplates knocking again, but decides against it. He walks up to his door instead. _Whatever. Not my problem if neighborhood cats start living in her apartment._

###

He falls asleep for the better part of an hour. Socializing — rather, merely being in a crowd — fatigued him so. He wakes up feeling like he pulled a muscle. His throat itches, and he gets a sudden impulse to smoke.

 _Can't_ , he tells himself. I already smoked three sticks during the party.

He changes into something decent, at least by his standards: a coffee-stained shirt and some gym pants he didn't know he had. He takes an unopened pack of cigarettes and heads for the roof deck.

He sees her, her stomach against the ledge, dress blowing in the wind, a pink jacket thrown thoughtlessly over her shoulders. Her hair glows, almost, in the moonlight. She turns her head and sees him.

"Oh, if it isn't Grumpy," she says, rather sleepily. She waves a hand weakly at him. Her fingers are technicolor, like they had been dipped in a many-colored bucket of paint.

He doesn't respond, but fiddles with the packet of cigarettes in his pants pocket.

She smiles at him with half-closed eyes. "Care to join me for a drink?" she says. "You look like you could use one. Or is that just your face?"

He eyes the empty bottle at her feet. "Speak for yourself. Besides, looks like you're out."

Ino laughs, and it echoes inside his chest. "Fear not, your royal grumpiness. I am always well-prepared." She pulls out a brown bag from _somewhere_ (How did _that_ get there? Is he that sleepy that his eyes are playing tricks on him?)

She sits on the ledge, takes a still-sealed bottle of vodka from the paper bag and waves it at him. She wobbles a bit, tips forward. He catches her by the elbows.

"How about we keep to ground," he mutters, pulling her off the ledge and settling her down on the floor. He sits down beside her without another word. She hands him the bottle. He hesitates, then takes a swig before shoving it back to her. She grins.

"That's more like it."

They finish the bottle and are halfway through another when her head dips unto the crook of his shoulder. He gives his shoulder a little shake but no — she's out cold.

He's growing sleepy himself, and before he knows it he's drifting off too.

###

He wakes up feeling like his head's on fire. Struggling fiercely he opens his eyes and thinks, panicked, that he's gone blind. He couldn't see anything but the white-gold glint of the sun. It takes an embarrassing amount of time before he realizes, it's just her hair catching the first rays of the morning.

He blinks, feeling rather stupid. A cold drop of something lands on his cheek.

"Morning, Grumpy." She shoves something — a plastic bottle of some alarmingly red liquid — in his face. "For being so graciously chatty last night, here's a little present: the best hangover recipe in the world. It tastes like shit but it will clear your headache in no time."

He takes the bottle and blinks a couple more times. When he opens his eyes again she was gone, but he thinks he catches a final glimpse of her gleaming hair in the stairwell.

###

She was not kidding about the juice — was that what it was? Was it not poison? — tasting like utter shit, but his head did feel better a couple of minutes later. He threw up, once, and took a nice cold shower. By noon he was feeling himself again.

In his panic a few hours earlier he almost called in sick, before realizing it was a Saturday and no one would be at work — at least ideally, but he wouldn't be surprised if Hyuuga Neji did put in a couple extra hours. Then he remembered last night's party, and prayed that Neji had gotten himself so drunk he couldn't make Sasuke work on the weekend. But the odds of that happening was low. Neji was not known to let himself go even in company-sponsored outings, the uptight prick.

He spends a good part of an hour figuring out what Yamanaka had put in her hangover juice, but to no luck. He starts feeling hungry at around 1 pm, so he takes his keys from the dish by the door and heads out.

###

On his way out, Sasuske sees a young man standing outside Yamanaka's door — pale, dark hair, ink stains on his clothes. He's carrying a gym bag full of — cans, Sasuke decides. They clunked when the guy moved. A dirty paint brush sticks out from the bag pocket.

The stranger doesn't look at him when he passes. Sasuke contemplates telling him that Yamanaka was out god knows where, but decides finally that whatever this hobo's business was with her was, well, none of his business.

He doesn't like him already.

###

Akimichi's was packed, and there was only one place available on a table at the far end of the room. Thankfully, it was his friends' table.

"Yo," Inuzuka greets, a knowing smile adorning his wolf-like features. "You look like you've been dragged through hell and back."

Naruto peers at him, narrows his eyes. "Impossible. You left earlier than everybody else. What's the matter with you?"

He feels a headache coming on. Instead of responding, he grumbles his order to Choji, who promptly scribbles it in his order pad.

"Coming right up!"

"So? Tell us what you've been up to," Inuzuka presses.

"Nothing," he says, a little more forcefully than he intended. _It's the headache_ , he tells himself. Inuzuka's grin widens, while Naruto looks on confused.

"What? What am I missing?"

 _Ah, the walk of shame,_ Inuzuka's face seems to be saying. "You won't get it, Naruto. Maybe when you're a little older you can get Uchiha to explain it to you." Naruto frowns. Inuzuka laughs, and Sasuke feels the urge to smash a plate over his head. He is saved from such violence — and a police record or two, probably — by the arrival of Choji and a still steaming bowl of ramen, which he dutifully sets in front of Sasuke. He also places a tall glass of a familiar-looking red juice before him.

"On the house," Choji says, with a grin. "It tastes like shit though, but I imagine you feel like shit already, so." Inuzuka howls with laughter at this, even Naruto, who seems to have caught on to the joke.

If his head wasn't reeling he would have socked them each on the jaw.

###

Neji's apartment was just as bleak and unadorned as his conversation, if Temari were to say so herself. Save for a few photographs lining the top row of a shelf, she wouldn't have guessed anyone lived here. It seemed more like a place to sleep than a home. Indeed on one corner was a small pile of still unopened moving boxes, collecting dust on the lids.

He was still sleeping when she slipped out of the bed, and later, out of the apartment. His phone rang a couple of times before that, and she wondered if she should answer it. She decided not to. She left her number on a piece of paper she found on the bedside table.

It was more an afterthought than anything, she concluded. She didn't really expect him to call her up or anything. But that wouldn't be too bad if he did.


	3. Chapter 3

**pigment** (or, the shadows of the ones you love never truly leave)

sai is an emotional wreck, poor baby

iii. in which one never really forgets

###

 _Strange_ , Ino thinks. It isn't like Neji not to pick up when she called. Granted, it's only 7 in the morning. But he was an early riser, and more than that he almost always picked up on the first ring.

 _I wonder what the matter is with him. Maybe he's busy._

She sends him a message, her fifth one that morning: meet me at the Denny's in front of your apartment. Please?

She waits for him for the good part of an hour, before she decides that he isn't coming. It isn't like him to be late for a couple of minutes, much less a full hour. She pays for her coffee (though she hasn't touched it really), puts on a pair of dark glasses to hide still-puffy eyes.

She sighs, ties her hair back behind her head. Where to go on this godawful cheerful morning when she's feeling completely and utterly wretched from last night's drinking spree? She catches a glimpse of a crow balancing its weight on a nearby fence. She is suddenly reminded of her brooding neighbor, Mr. Grumpyface, Uchiha Sasuke, also Hyuuga Neji's unfortunate foot soldier.

The way the feathers on the crow's rear end sticks up is reminiscent of — _no_ , Ino thinks, _his hair's more like a chicken's butt really_. She laughs to herself. But the color is right. Dark as a crow's.

Just like _his_.

The two of them look so much alike she still does a double take sometimes. Sometimes, her heart skips a beat. That morning when she woke up with her head on Uchiha's shoulder, it had felt just like old times. She almost said _his_ name, and then she realized. It's not him. (It was just a dream.)

Sai's hair used to stick up like that sometimes, when he falls asleep with a hand behind his head. She used to comb the tangles free with her fingers and —

She blinks away the daydream. Her throat is dry. She walks over to a vendo and buys a Coke. The low humming of the machine leaves her somehow emptier than before.

There were other similarities. Like those contemplative silences, so easily misunderstood. Or the way they carried themselves with almost imperceptible guardedness. How they both spill ashes when they smoke.

She wondered how two souls could be so similar, and yet —

(and yet, he was not Sai. The similarities end when Sasuke scowls. Sai had always preferred to wear a smile, even a fake one. And even if, against all impossibility, Sasuke was Sai, how can anyone love the same soul twice?)

###

They meet again on the roof deck. Earlier this time. The sun has barely set when he finds her, back to the ledge, drinking something so strong he could smell it from far away.

"Hey, it's you again! Grumpypants."

"I see you brought cups this time," he comments, nodding at the red plastic container she hands to him. She pours him a brimful. "This is not—"

"A good idea?" She laughs. "Trust me, Uchiha, you're better off with a couple of bad ideas now. That way you don't turn all the way bad in the end, huh? Isn't that what the grown-ups used to say?"

 _Maybe you've had one too many bad ideas_ , he wants to answer, but doesn't. He lowers himself to the ground, beside her. They sit, cross-legged, shoulder-to-shoulder.

"You work with Hyuuga Neji, right?" she says, coolly. He damn well near chokes on his drink. Seeing the incredulous look on his face, she adds, "Yeah, we're kind of best friends."

Sasuke steadies himself, wipes the spilled booze from his chin. He downs the rest of the cup in one long swallow.

She lets out a whistle. "Man, you've got issues. What's it like working with the great Hyuuga genius?"

He frowns. "I thought you were best friends. You should know."

"Aw, come on, he's not _that_ bad." He snorts at that. "I'm serious! Give him a chance. You're more alike than you think."

Sasuke makes a face, like the mere thought repelled him.

"Look, we grew up together, alright? He practically knows everything about me. The story of the scar on my knee. Playing hide and seek was no fun because he always knew where to find me." There's a pink glow on her cheeks now. Whether it's the alcohol or the early evening chill or something else, he doesn't know. It's not — _unpleasant_ —

"Let's stop talking about my boss." He coughs.

She raises an eyebrow. "Fine. Let's talk about your childhood friends then."

He takes a sip from his cup, realizes it's empty.

"None."

"None?"

"Just me and my brother."

This makes her sad, for some reason. "Just you and your brother, huh." He frowns. "What's wrong with that?"

She looks away, but the corners of her eyes glisten. "Nothing. But someone, a long time ago, said exactly the same thing."

###

They make it through two and a half bottles before Ino keels over, laughing and sobbing at the same time. He doesn't laugh, but the beginnings of a smirk are on his lips. He's never felt this light — and lightheaded — in years. They throw up on the stairwell. Somehow they make their way to Sasuke's flat, and collapse on his old, misshapen bed (it had been his brother's, a final relic that tethers him to a past in an obscure hometown a million miles from Tokyo.)

Her hair falls on his face, he pushes it away. He falls asleep with her head on his chest. She's still wearing her shoes. The sun's already rising but they sleep, anyway.

###

He wakes up to the the sound of the kettle going off. The TV hums next door. He's alone on the bed, in last night's clothes, which stink heavily of alcohol. There's a shuffling in his kitchen, and then the sound of a door closing.

With great effort he peels himself away from the bed. He checks the kitchen first. A mug, still steaming, is on the table. The smell of freshly made coffee fills his nose. A note, tacked to the fridge. He goes out. The lobby is empty. The elevator doors sigh open, and then inhale close.

###

She sees the package first, and then the card. An invitation to a gallery opening.

###

Ino stuffs the invite — now wrinkled and torn at the edges — into her purse. She hated her dress; it was too tight in all the wrong places. She could scarcely breathe. She wishes she'd done her hair differently.

At least Neji's here, she thinks. That's a comfort. Until they're joined by a gorgeous blonde Neji introduced as Temari, his girlfriend. (Her hair's a shade darker than Ino's. Her eyes, startlingly green. Somewhere between mint and anti-freeze, Ino assigns.)

She releases a breath she doesn't know she's holding. There's an ache in her chest when she shakes Temari's hand. (It hurts because Temari is a part of Neji's life that he chose not to share with her. She's never kept anything from him, highs and lows both. That he failed to mention Temari is proof that they're drifting farther and farther apart as time passes, and that was hard to accept.)

She smiles her best smile, but she's sure Neji can see the cracks on her perfect mask.

"Neji tells me you're an artist," Temari says. Ino nods.

"Preferred medium?"

Ino grins, relaxes. "I like everything."

Temari smiles widely. "I like that answer. What do you usually dabble in these days?"

They talk about art at length. Somewhere in the middle of the discussion on whether Picasso was an insufferable asshole, Neji disappears into the bar and doesn't come back until they've discussed two more topics, their favorite contemporary art, the most absurd school of painting.

Temari's family owned three galleries in Japan. This one, the newest, showcased a new talent they discovered. Has Ino heard of the young artist Shimura Sai? His works are too gritty for some, but —

Temari watches Ino's face turn from scarlet to moon-white in three short seconds. Neji looks as if he'd swallowed poison. _Oh._

###

She peruses the installations with uncharacteristic silence. That's the thing about art, she thinks. You may share an artwork with people, but viewing it is primarily a solitary experience. You may view it with others, of course, but the epiphany, the tides of emotion evoked by the piece, they're yours, and yours alone. Art is intimate, and often, lonely.

It's the blue mural that makes her breath stop momentarily. It depicts a blue sky, a view from a window at night. The colors and the curve of the clouds call to mind a famous Van Gogh, but no — there was no mistaking that view. She had made the connection first, years ago. (They were looking at studios. It was their lifelong dream to own one. _Doesn't the sky look like Starry Night from here?_ she asks. Sai grins. _It's decided. We'll live here someday._ )

So he came back to that place after all. The mural is nothing like he's painted before. _Raw._ After that, she couldn't bear to be in the presence of his works anymore. She catches a glimpse of Sai's back just as he steps out of the black sedan, an eager crowd waiting for him, but she doesn't stop walking.

###

It's dusk when she reaches the building of her apartment. The houses are asleep, the streets are quiet with their low breathing. Neji called, twice. She didn't pick up.

He stands, under a streetlamp, the light from it giving his skin an unearthly glow. He shoves an unsmoked cigarette into the pocket of his coat. He's just as she remembered — and yet, so much has changed. Dark bangs hang on his forehead, casting shadows.

"I was wondering why you weren't there," he says, in a voice that's more sigh than whisper. "I mailed you an invite."

He takes her in his arms, easy. It's just as she remembers: his skin like ice, his breath on her cheeks warm.

On her bed, later, Sai cries, like she'd never seen him do before, and her world collapses around them. She says nothing, only runs bruised fingers through his hair, following the dips and curves of his face, all the edges, wishing she could do more for him than this, like bring him back from the world he lives in inside his head. But she can only fix her gaze on him, search his face for answers, breathe him in.

(Later, when he comes inside her, his nails dig white crescents on her back. He cries out her name. It hurts, but she doesn't let go.)

When she wakes up, she half expects to find him gone, like she'd dreamed him all along. But he's there, hair a mess, sweat on his brow. The sunlight from the window wraps him in idyllic glow. Even at twenty-something, he still sleeps like a child, so unlike the unraveling artist persona everyone wants him to be. She wants to tell him, _you don't have to be anything they tell you to be. You don't have to be anything._

He smiles when he wakes. They make breakfast together, and it's just like before, Ino thinks. Only their phones keep ringing, but they pay them no mind. (They don't talk about the gallery, his work, the blue mural.)

He picks up, finally, on the fifth ring. He smiles a false smile. (The dream shatters, just like before.)

Before he leaves, he picks up a tiny half-finished carving from her desk.

 _You made this._ It wasn't a question. She nods. _Can I have it?_ A peculiar request, but she says yes. He smiles again, and it's not false this time.

She doesn't have the heart to tell him it's modeled after his brother, but he knows. Later, on the flight to New York, Sai fiddles with the tiny thing. He could just fit it in his fist. He had taken it to put on Shin's memorial. And he hates himself for it.


	4. Chapter 4

**pigment**

iv. because some loves are slow burning, others all-consuming. still others are like fires that blaze one moment and die quietly in the next.

###

Temari doesn't ask to stay over at Neji's place for more than one night, and he doesn't offer.

Sometime after she and Neji had gotten together, she makes peace with Kankuro, who asks her to move back home. "Gaara wouldn't talk to me, he was so mad," he admits. "You're the only one he listens to."

Tenten had refused to accept payment at first. But three months' rent is no small sum, and Temari had a thing about debts — she didn't like having them.

"Don't be ridiculous," Temari snaps, taking the other girl by surprise. She clears her throat. Tenten narrows her eyes, parts her mouth to speak. "Is everything—"

Temari liked Tenten, that much is clear. She's never had a close female friend before. But some information was just too much information, close friend or not.

"Sorry. Moving back home has been rough." _A lie_.

Since she moved back home, her brothers have been behaving rather well — Kankuro being friendlier than usual, Gaara showing up less, but that had always been a good sign. She nearly cried though, when on her first day back Gaara visited her room. He squeezed her hand very briefly and said, almost a whisper, "Welcome home." Gaara did not like to be touched, much less touch people, even his siblings, so that tiny show of affection had taken Temari aback, about 500 km back if she were being honest, and she was almost suspicious someone had kidnapped her little brother and placed a dummy in his stead.

"Go on, sis, you can cry. I won't judge," Kankuro teased, and teasing, with Kankuro was always a good sign. "May never happen again so seize the moment, I guess."

 _So_ , a lie —

"I see," Tenten says, eyes still narrowed. She had a nasty habit of seeing right through Temari, sometimes without knowing it. Or maybe she does, and it's Temari who is late to realize she's been found out.

"Say, what's up with Hyuuga Bossypants anyway? He seems more on edge lately. You two doing alright?"

It's been less than a month since they started seeing each other...No, that's not quite the right term, Temari muses. She has never asked to stay at his place for more than one night in a row, and he has never offered. In the mornings after they talk with cadenced silences; not so much through words as the spaces between them.

She finds out his secrets and habits (in a way, habits were secrets too, when left unexplained) mostly by observation, on rare instances by slips of the tongue. They were similar in that they didn't find it necessary to disclose too much about themselves.

She does, at least, manage to learn the names of the people figuring in most of the photos on his shelf. The blonde artist, Yamanaka Ino, Temari already met. But there was another person who was often in the photos with Ino.

She looked like Neji, the same dark hair and pale eyes. Neji never did talk about his family, and she never talked about hers. She wouldn't have been surprised if he had a sister.

"Cousin," Neji corrects, when she does find the nerve to ask. By the furrow of his brows she could tell he was contemplating telling her more. He really didn't have to, if that made him so uncomfortable. "Hinata. She's two years younger than I am."

Looking at the picture on his desk — moon-faced Hinata, flanked on either side by Ino, all smiles like sunshine, and Neji, wearing his usual scowl — there's a story in there somewhere, Temari decides, perhaps.

###

Ino doesn't question her newly found closeness with her neighbor, doesn't question when he graduates from calling her "princess" to Yamanaka, and on the rarest of days, Ino.

She doesn't question when he joins her, often wordlessly, during her rooftop retreats. He doesn't talk much, especially about his private life. His work he mentions from time to time. He smokes, sometimes, but she knows self-control when she sees it.

To make the silence more comfortable (not that it was heavy to begin with) she has taken to bringing her drawing book with her during these meetings. Few words pass between them, she sketching with crayon-stained hands, he sometimes watching her, sometimes looking at something in the distance. Yet these meetings were always oddly intimate, with them speaking not through words but through silences.

For his part, Sasuke doesn't question why she gets herself crazy drunk sometimes, and who that person was with the ink-stained clothes he saw leaving her apartment one morning. She talks a lot, but not about her work — something tells him there's a story there, somewhere, but he doesn't ask. She tells stories, snippets she knows about the other tenants of the apartment, often about Guy's bizarre antics, but never about herself.

He does feel like he should question the soundness of his judgment when it comes to her. On the night he learned how well acquainted she was with his boss, he had contemplated leaving her right then and there on the rooftop, never talking to her again.

"And yet here we are," Ino says, interrupting his thoughts. A few seconds pass before he realizes she's been talking all along.

Ino narrows her eyes. "Have you been listening?"

He shrugs in response. They were past the point of pretending to care what the other thought now. Strange, he thinks, he wasn't the pretending type. But with other people at least there was a part of him that wanted to be seen as smart, as reliable, highly capable of dealing with whatever's thrown at him. And yet, with Ino — well, to put it bluntly with her he didn't really care. She was too wrapped up in her own world anyway to care if he appeared dependable or not.

Frankly, he preferred that. And if he was being more honest he'd say he saw himself in her, even if they moved in somewhat different worlds. Hers was a world of clay, and hands dirty with paint and chalk, a world of canvas suffering under the weight of its subjects, and days that bleed into one another making a face, a landscape, a shape, rise to the surface. His was a world of concrete, of formulae, measurements, buildings and their skeletons, a singular shade of blue on fine paper. Her world celebrated flaws; his relied on precision, the closest man could ever get to perfection.

 _And yet here we are._

He doesn't ask to be taken to that other world, and he has a feeling her own world is all she's ever known.

(Sasuke came from a little town, and city dwellers to him had always seemed to have come from another planet. The way they talked past each other, chin raised, eyes staring but not seeing. City life was much less intimidating up close, Sasuke soon found out when he moved there, and it didn't take long for him to adjust, and eventually adapt.

Happiness, or any semblance of it, was much easier to fake in the city, that paradise — or Dali-like wasteland — of shiny glass and polished metal that reflected your own face, multiplied a hundred, thousand times, the same dull expression on everyone.

Even hers, when the fading daylight's shining on it like this, her eyes two mirrors holding twin images of his face that was worn, weary, lonesome, alone.

In the city, where the high-rises look like giant coffins from afar, the spaces between people who sleep next to each other are much wider than the spaces between the skyscrapers.)

###

Sai paints over the canvas, white over black, and blue, and gold. Since seeing Ino again he's begun to use gold in everything — gold to depict sunlight, gold as glint in the eye, gold as ghost, as soul, as memory.

The galleries of the Sand siblings were, frankly, not much to his liking. The halls too far apart, the crowds too large, the walls too white they hurt his eyes. Ino had always been better at this, mingling with crowds, blending in without giving too much of herself away. She was a master at keeping people at arm's length, without pushing them away completely. She's magnetic, but only just so. People used come to warm themselves around her, like she was some fire burning low, steady and slow.

(Sai, he was no fire. On most days, he was just like the sea: quiet, calm, constant. But inspiration came like waves, his moods like storms. On days when he was a tempest, he consumed everything around him, and that was when he hated himself the most.)

What was it that really drew him to her?

It was Shin, unsurprisingly, who had brought them together.

Sai was a freshman in college, doing the art majors' first exhibition. He had asked Shin to come because he hated going to these things alone. Also he had won first prize in the painting division, and wanted to show Shin.

A few minutes in, Sai got cornered by his professors into a lengthy discussion about his next work. During this time Shin had wandered into the opposite wing of the gallery. He stopped in front of a sculpture, a clay and wire figurine of a person reclined, one hand over the heart. A ribbon for first prize was attached to the pedestal.

" _Psyche_ ," Shin reads from the title card. "It means soul, right?"

The person standing beside him turns to look at him. A girl with gleaming hair and startling blue eyes.

"Love stories involving the gods do not always end happily. Take Zeus and his many, many women. Apollo and Daphne. Orpheus, who is at least half-god himself, and his wife Eurydice. Cupid and Psyche are the exception, I think."

"What do you think the story means?" the girl asks. "The story of Cupid and Psyche?"

Shin mulls over the question for a moment, placing a hand over his chin. "I think it means — finding each other in the darkness, and coming out into the light. Love need not be afraid of illumination...or something?"

The girl says nothing to that, only looks back at the sculpture. "Well, I think the artist is sloppy," she says finally, frowning.

Shin looks at the title card again. _Artist: Yamanaka Ino_

"I think the artist did a pretty good job bringing Soul to life...bringing life to Soul...hmm." He smiles a little. "I'd like to meet this Yamanaka-san."

Behind them there's a shuffling. Someone clears his throat. Shin and his companion turn to look.

"Shin," Sai says, "how could you leave me with those old men again." Shin laughs. "Sorry 'bout that! You know how I feel about shoptalk."

Sai's gaze falls on the girl, who was looking at him intently. "Yamanaka-san, hello."

Ino's frown deepens. "Shimura-san," she answers, bowing slightly.

"I see you won in your department," he deadpans. "Congratulations. Seems like my brother is a fan."

Shin's face brightens. "You guys know each other? That's great, Sai."

 _Not really, we don't really know each other,_ Sai's expression seems to say. But to Shin he only says, "Let's go."

Shin bids Ino an enthusiastic farewell. Ino offers him a soft smile. Walking away, Sai sees her from the corner of his eye. She turns back to the sculpture, and is soon joined by a boy and a girl, both with pale eyes, who take her by the elbows to disappear into a crowd.

For some reason beyond him at the time, he commits the gold of her hair to memory. Beside him, Shin chuckles to himself.

"What's funny?" Sai asks.

"Oh, nothing —" though by his grin, something clearly is, "— it's just that Yamanaka-san's sculpture is _Psyche._ Your painting is called _Memory._ Soul and Memory. How interesting."

"Coincidence," Sai replies. Shin shrugs. "Perhaps. There's a story in there somewhere. I know it."

The story of soul and memory. Memory and soul. Sai paints over the canvas, white over black, and blue, and gold. Whatever happened to happy endings?

###

Sai leaves behind an empty packet of cigarettes in her living room, tucked in between the cushions of her sofa. Ino picks it up, brings it to the light. She reads the label: he's never smoked this brand before. So many things have changed, but —

What was it that really drew her to him?

His immense talent? And yet, she had always known that he was more than the sum of the images on his canvas. Or was it because he, more than anyone, knew the agony it took to make pictures come alive? Perhaps she saw something of herself in him, that part of her that hid in the shadows, a ghost, a memory, or perhaps, her soul.

(Ino had submitted a painting for the second exhibition of their freshman year. The blue ribbon tacked to the frame told her she had failed.

"Shimura again?" Sakura sighs, "Well, he's really talented, but it would be nice to see someone else win first prize for a change." She shoves into Ino's hands a flask that contained strong-smelling liquor. "Hey, you know, he's been asking about you. What do you think of that?"

Ino shrugs. "I don't know. He's kind of a prick. His brother's much nicer."

Sakura hums. "Huh, you've met his brother. I mean, I've nothing against Shimura, but you know, to me he just seems so...empty.")

 _Empty._

Neji had said the exact same thing. Like Sai was more drawn to Ino's art than herself, he said. A blank slate, in the worst possible way. But was it empty, really, the way Sai looked at her that night like he'd crumble if she left him completely? It seems to her that someone who was empty wouldn't be able to cry like he did, holding her so close it hurt.

They have already lost Shin, and Sai had told her she's one of the few things keeping him from following his brother to the grave. But most days it feels like she's already lost him too.

Ino almost throws away the packet but she stops herself. She puts it back on the sofa where she found it. She runs to her bedroom, grabs a canvas and some half-opened cans of paint. She runs her brush over the picture already there, white over the reds, and the purples, and the gold.

(There's time, she thinks, to rewrite endings and forge beginnings. That's the artist's job. Carve a new path when everything's a muddled mess of shadows. Art is illumination, and infinite possibilities.)

When she finishes, a different picture shows on the canvas, and the midnight moon is shining brightly above Tokyo's starless skyline. She dials Neji's number. Had it been another person, she might have thought it cruel to call at this hour. But this was Neji, and he probably just got back from the office and is getting ready to pull yet another all-nighter.

"What?" came the irritated voice from the other end of the line. But his anger had no real bite, and Ino knew better.

"Hey, can you give me Temari's number? There's something I need to talk to her about."


	5. Chapter 5

**pigment**

v. she's pigments and hues

###

Summer, several years back.

Sai and Ino at the first art exhibit of the year. They stand in front of a blank wall where Sai's painting will be displayed. A framed picture of a fruit basket hangs in its place. Ino sighs, frowns at it.

"Do you ever wish you could start over?" Sai says suddenly.

Ino turns to him, eyes searching. "Start what over?"

Sai opens his mouth to speak, pauses, and then shakes his head. "Nothing. Never mind."

A few hours later, at their favorite diner, Sai leans close and says, "Shin left today."

Ino asks, "Where to?"

"New York."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Work. Money."

"Your uncle is loaded. Why would you need money?"

"So we can pay him back and get out of his hair forever." There's a question on her lips but she doesn't say it, not when Sai has closed himself off again, shoulders stooped, head turned away from her. There are times Sai didn't mind talking about what he's feeling. This isn't one of those times.

At dawn, Sai crawls out of the bed they share in that lonely downtown apartment. Ino cracks open an eye and sees him change out of his sleeping clothes, take his coat off the back of the chair by the window where he used to sit sometimes to sketch the street scene below. Sai puts on the coat and walks to the door, stops. Ino waits for him to glance back, like people who leave are said to do, but he doesn't. He maybe stifles a cry, but he doesn't look back, only walks out of the apartment in his black cap, black jeans and black coat, like some phantom who breezes into her life one day and just as quietly walks out of it.

Something — premonition, divine intervention, her own conscience — tells Ino this is only the first time.

He resurfaces half a year later, tears in his eyes and snow in his hair. "They've taken him away from me," he says, voice trembling and nothing like she remembered, a hollowed out voice, the voice of a phantom, a voice that never stopped haunting her every day since.

That's when she realizes. This is a person who would — _could never_ — stay by her side.

###

One week after she asks for Temari's number, Neji finds Ino in the gallery, standing in front of the blue mural. From the circular he pries from her clenched fist he learns that Sai has left again, for New York this time, to do an exhibit there. She's looking away from him. He takes her face — gently — in both hands, and says, Temari told me. Have you slept at all this week?

Ino lifts her eyes to meet his. Ignoring his question completely (but the shadows on her face are answers enough), she replies, Neji, let's go home.

 _Home_ is an old town outside Tokyo, nearly a five-hour train ride from the nearest station, so they settle for Ino's apartment, which is at least familiar, unlike the rest of the city, that city of never delayed trains, cabs whose seats smell like cigarettes, identical apartments, coffin-like high rises, dust on the shelves, on people's hair, on the dips and curves of people's faces. He cooks dinner, she sketches on the bed. They eat little, talk even less. Later he tucks her into bed and they're children again. She tugs his hand and says, pleads, _Stay_ , so he does, and he realizes he can't refuse her, not now, not then, not ever..

The bed dips with his weight when he crawls under the covers with her. When she's wrapped safely in his arms and his lips graze the crown of her head, she asks, Why did we leave home? We were happy there, weren't we?

I wonder, he says, after a pause. In his head he answers, Because we're proud fools. We were willing to exchange small-town happiness for big-city dreams.

We dreamt of a city that never sleeps, because we couldn't sleep ourselves, turning our ambitions over and over inside our heads. Because, no matter how much you love your father you couldn't settle for a life selling flowers in a small shop; you were meant for something grander. And I —

(That morning, Temari called to tell him she was going away for a while. To think things over. To take a break.

You should try it sometime, she adds, sarcastic as always. But he knew her well enough to realize there was a grain of truth in there, that she was being sincere somehow.

Thanks, he says back. It was a game they were used to. Who's the lucky guy?

It's Temari's turn to pause. He waits. "It's Tenten actually."

Oh. He stares at the phone on his desk. _Oh._

"Yeah. Are you surprised?"

They never were good with words, the two of them. Maybe that was why they didn't work. And even though they're already broken up, they had kept in touch. Odd as it may seem, they had become better friends after they stopped fucking and pretending it was something more than the warmth of someone's skin on yours when your own thoughts keep you awake, alone, in the cold. She was one of about four people who weren't afraid to match wits with him, and for that he was grateful. Come to think of it, Tenten was like that to him too.

I want you to be happy, he replies, after what seems like a forever-long silence. Temari laughs, an inelegant honest laugh that he might maybe miss. Right back at you, you tool.

"Go, you have a flight to catch. Tell Tenten she owes me. With her gone, I'll be doing most of her work in the office."

"I'll tell her to bring you back a souvenir or something."

"No keychains. Or fridge magnets."

Temari snorts at this. "I can't promise.")

When Ino falls asleep, he untangles his arms from hers. He gets up from the bed, picks sketches up from the floor, props the canvases against the walls. There's paint marks everywhere, on the shelves, the floor, the walls, and it's so distinctly her. She's pigments and hues, leaving traces of color everywhere she goes.

She's always had a knack for picking up broken things, much like how she picked up both Hinata and him, when they were younger.

He had heard from Temari, how Ino had approached her about submitting a piece or two for the gallery's next exhibit. She's working on a few, she said. Temari agreed, giving her a two-month deadline.

Later, in private, Temari had asked Neji, Ino is talented, why has she never done her own show before?

Neji answers, through gritted teeth, She thinks it's _his_ thing.

He remembers Ino after the first break up with Sai, how devastated she was. A million arguments that finally ended with Sai packing his bags and Ino throwing a still burning canvas onto the sidewalk.

Later, Ino tells Neji, _He thought I wasn't putting myself out there, wasn't putting enough effort. Goddamn him._

A few months later Sai's photo appears in an art magazine, with a quarter page reproduction of a painting, _Gunshots_ , a landscape, Dali-like, or Doré, accompanied by a glowing commentary by Deidara, a famous art critic. Ino throws herself into more work, taking on commissions and assignments from god knows where, until finally she collapses on her way to Neji's apartment.

It's easy to dismiss her behavior as merely obsessive, stubborn, perfectionist, workaholic tendencies, but Neji knows better. Ino only gets like that when she's doubting herself.

It takes nearly everything he's got to get her out of that rut, that self-destructive cycle, until of course Sai had to come back, the bastard, and ask Ino for another chance. Ino relents, after a while, because after all that time she was still in love. Neji couldn't fault her, only watches in silence, grimaces from time to time to show his disapproval. When Shin dies, Sai leaves again, and Ino never got over the hurt from that one.

Disapproval turned into anger, and there's an ache in his chest that never really left, even now as he looks at her sleeping so peacefully in her bed. He wants to tell her, _you don't have to be anything they tell you to be. You don't have to be anything._

But there's a part of Ino that Neji disliked more than the one that always doubts herself, and it's the part that gives up on the things she wants so easily, for someone else. And it's easier to blame Sai for everything Ino is — or has become, because people do change when it's time, and change is sometimes like a flower wilting, a plant that's bent at the stem. It's easier to blame the seasons — the storms and the floods — than to accept the withering. But he hasn't given up on her, not yet, not her, not ever. He promised himself and Inoichi, for this girl who was fire, who was a pain in the ass but also his sun, his light, his illumination.

(Temari asks him, Have you ever thought about putting yourself out of your own misery by telling her how you really feel?

He shakes his head no. Not when she's still hurting. That will only hurt her more.)

In the morning, he will leave, but this won't feel like a hook-up — with her it never has, for when he leaves he knows it's never for good. He will always come back to her, to this, even when he's still hurting, even when it will hurt him more.

###

From his veranda, Sasuke watches Neji hail a cab, his hair in disarray, suit uncharacteristically wrinkled. He smokes his second cigarette of the day as the taxi leaves.

Whatever happened to self-control? Fuck it, he thinks. He'd had a long day and he needed to get his mind off work.

He turns his head to check the clock in the living room, it's almost dawn. The sky is a deep, dark blue, but if he looked hard enough he could see almost see rose or gold just above the skyline.

Something about the blue, the rose and the gold reminds him of her. Earlier today, he was somewhat disappointed when he finds the rooftop empty for the fifth day in a row. He realizes he had grown accustomed to their little talks, though it was mostly them drinking and arguing over one thing or another. And then she laughs — snorts into her drink, actually, and he feels the beginnings of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He shrugs off the memory.

He steps inside the living room, back to the pile on the table, bills, letters from home, more bills, reports he has to finish before dawn breaks – which is, a few minutes from now.

He crushes the cigarette on the table.

The note — _her_ note — is still tacked on the door of his fridge. _Grumpy, you're not so bad after all._

###

He maybe thinks of her more than necessary. Just the week before she manages to talk him into buying this ugly orange sweater that he maybe wears to work one day. Kiba would not stop laughing.

"Dude, did you raid Naruto's closet or something?"

Naruto makes a wounded expression. "Hey, orange is a nice color, okay. It's cheerful."

The day before that she pesters him about watching a movie on his laptop during their rooftop retreat, some tragedy, and she talks through the whole thing. The ending is garbage anyway, she says when the credits roll.

What is it with you and endings, he wants to ask, but decides against it. The other day she remembered a book she read as a kid, but she forgot how it ended. The day before that one she talked about a painting she couldn't finish.

Shikamaru, ever the genius, ever observant, asks him over dinner at Akimichi's, Who's the unlucky girl?

What, he says — _sputters_ — like he's some teenage kid in a bad sitcom, the hell are you talking about?

And Choji smiles, knowingly, because if Shikamaru knows he's the next one to know after him. "Spit it out, lover boy. You're much more agreeable lately. And you're never agreeable."

Kiba chokes on his drink, and then laughs his loud obnoxious laugh that startles Choji's dad from behind the counter. "And he wore this jolly orange shirt at work too! You must be head over heels for this woman."

Woman. She was nothing like the women he had fantasized as a kid. The hair was right — long, straight, soft as silk — and the face, nymph-like, pink lips, bright eyes. But — she was nothing like the girl of his dreams. She was real.

That morning he singes his fingers making coffee with the french press he's had for two years. He takes the note on his fridge, throws it away, but it's her words he can't get out of his head.

 _You're not so bad after all._

That evening, he tries the rooftop again. No luck. Her apartment's quiet too. He wonders where she is. Funny how a person can live next door — just an arm's length away, and yet.

And yet he stares irritated at the empty ashtray in front of him.

The other night, she asked him, "Do you ever wish you could start over?"

"Start what over?"

She didn't answer.

When he sees her again, he decides he's going to ask her what she meant by those words. For now, he lets himself think about her for a while longer.


	6. Chapter 6

**pigment**

vi. like they're built to last

###

Ino pretends to be asleep but hears Neji leave her apartment just before dawn.

She knows it's not fair on him. She can't let him be tied to her like this. She has to outgrow his protection somehow, let him lead a life of his own choosing and making. Temari was a start, but that didn't last. Though Neji never told her the full story, she knew – almost with certainty – why that fell apart so quickly. In his own way, Neji needed Ino too. They've been in the city for how many years now, yet to him, she's still the only thing that's familiar.

Ino liked to tease him about being an overachiever, a boy wonder, but she always knew he was more than that, so much more, really, than big bosses from big-shot firms cared to know.

It's true he pushed himself to excel in whatever he did. It's not all ambition, though he does have a lot more of it than most people. It's almost as if he was wired that way. From a very young age Neji had always seemed to be proving something to others, a point perhaps, that he was worthy of being loved and cared for.

It's easy to blame Hiashi, bringing the boy up in his home but never truly loving him like a son. Perhaps it was Neji's uncanny resemblance to his father, Hiashi's own dead sibling, from the face to the height down to the tiniest mannerisms, and looking at Neji (and watching him grow up) brought back the guilt, the sadness, the emptiness Hisashi's passing left behind.

As it turns out, Neji would find a second, far more home-like home in the Yamanakas and their apartment above the flower shop. Though Inoichi would not exchange his darling daughter for anything in the world, he had always wanted a son too. Neji fit the bill – smart and obedient, plus his protectiveness of Ino rivaled only that of Inoichi and his wife.

Neji was always welcome in the Yamanaka home. Hinata too, after Ino waved away her bullies and developed a sort of motherly attachment for the pale-eyed girl. And so Inoichi had three children though his wife's health allowed for only one.

Ino doesn't know this, but when Neji made up his mind to move to the city after getting his first job, he told Inoichi first. In fact he didn't plan on telling his uncle until he'd made all the arrangements, and all that was left was to haul his things into a cab and go.

Inoichi's first words, upon hearing his plans, were, "You do know, that if you leave, Ino will follow you."

Neji was silent. He knew.

"I mean, she's going to make it seem like she's going to look for a job too, but we all know it's because you're too important to her."

"Tokyo has many galleries, if she submitted her work she could do exhibits," Neji countered, though the argument was lazy and limp even by his standards.

"Neji," Inoichi began, ignoring the boy's excuses out of kindness, or maybe out of the request he's about make, "I know it's hardly fair to you. But if my daughter is important to you too, you have to ask her to stay behind, or you'd be stuck taking care of her, for a long time, possibly."

Ino did eventually decide to move to the city. Neji picked her up from the station and helped her find an apartment. At the station, before they parted, Inoichi and Neji exchanged a look, of understanding, an unspoken pact, for this girl who was fire, who was illumination, who was the light of both their lives.

###

Sasuke catches Ino one morning in the hallway, hauling a giant canvas into the door of her apartment. She rolls her eyes when he gives her a suspicious look.

"It's not a dead body, Uchiha, don't look so disapproving."

He frowns, ponders if he should lend a hand, but then again she'd gotten most of the canvas inside already. "Do you need help with that?" he says, finally.

She looks legitimately shocked at first, and then breaks into a grin. "Well, well, well. Never thought I'd see the day."

He almost bursts out, "What do you take me for?" but she cuts him off, as always. "Your chivalry is much appreciated, Grumpy, but I can handle it. Besides, aren't you going to be late for work?"

He glances at his watch, a quarter before seven, hisses. He runs for the elevator. Just before the doors close he sees her push the last of the canvas with a kick, that is immediately followed by a crash inside her apartment.

At work, chaos as usual. Someone has misplaced a document for a much anticipated project pitch. Lunch hour is spent in frantic search for a back up copy. By the time a disheveled Kiba finally procures one, Neji has already delivered a 15-minute sermon about responsibility and professional maturity _twice,_ with a couple of abridged versions in between.

Sasuke goes home a mess of nerves and sore back muscles from sitting behind his desk for a grand total of thirteen hours. He is greeted by a rather enthusiastic Ino a little ways from his door. She waves a letter in front of Sasuke's face. "It's from Forehead!"

"Who's Forehead?"

Ino glosses over the question and instead reads from the letter. The edges are wrinkled now from having been held too long.

 _Dear Ino-pig_ – she makes a face – congratulations on your first exhibition. I'm really sorry I can't make it on opening night. I'm accompanying my parents on a trip overseas, you see. But I'll make sure to visit the gallery when I get back! I'm very happy you got to fulfill that particular dream of yours (you have lots, you know that?)

By the way, before I left, I saw Sai at a coffee shop. Didn't know he was back? Have you two –

Sasuke almost asks who Sai is, but the look on her face is enough warning. She stuffs the note back in the pocket of her jeans.

Anyway, isn't that great? she says. I haven't heard from her in a while. Too bad she can't make it. You, however, are coming, right?

(He makes no promises, but does borrow a nice suit jacket from Shikamaru. The ones he owned had cigarette burns on them.

Meeting the parents already? Shikamaru comments, eyebrow raised.

Shut up, he answers, but asks through gritted teeth if he could also borrow a tie.)

###

The exhibition opens on a Thursday night. Sasuke runs into Neji on the way out of the office. _Well,_ he thinks, _this is terribly awkward._ They walk in silence toward the elevator. Sasuke gingerly presses the button for Ground. Neji clears his throat.

"I take it you're going to the exhibition too?"

That was rather direct. His answer comes off more defensively than he intended. "She, uh, invited me."

Neji grunts in response. Sasuke glowers at his reflection on the metal door. When the doors open, they go their separate ways without a word.

Sasuke heads back home to change into a clean shirt, and puts on the jacket and tie he had borrowed from Shikamaru. He is dead tired and there are shadows under his eyes, but he does end up brushing through his unfortunate mess of a hair in a last-second attempt to look alive.

Ino waits for him outside the gallery. "Wow, Grumpy, you clean up nice," she says, her face lighting up when she sees him.

Inside, the main hall is filling up. All sorts of well-dressed people, regulars of the society pages, patrons with too much money than they know what to do with.

"I'm so nervous," Ino breathes, so quietly Sasuke almost doesn't hear it.

"Stop that," he growls, taking the torn up program from her hands and stuffing it in his pocket. He grabs two glasses from a passing waiter's tray and hands one to her. "Drink up."

She does, and her quiet obedience startles him a bit. They decide to peruse the artworks randomly, but end up hunting down Ino's pieces anyway. Her face lights up again when she sees the first painting, of an old man in a newspaper cap and smoking a cigarette. Sasuke stands a little to the side as she chats up some observers. Ino is in her element here, talking of her love of art and colors and still life and portraits; _he_ feels like a fish out of water.

When the crowd thins, she finds him in front of a large painting, a muted landscape of washed out walls, moonlit rooftops, a giant waning moon in the background, empty streets. _White city_ , oil on canvas. When he turns to face her, she's wearing an unreadable expression, looking at the name on the title plate.

He wonders where he's heard that name before.

Funny, she says, seeing our works in the same place like this. I should feel like I finally caught up to him, after all these years. So why don't I?

Her voice cracks, a little. There's something there, a story, an explanation. Did she think a gulf existed between this guy's talent and hers?

(Sasuke would know a thing or two about living in someone else's shadow. Itachi had not come home for god knows how many years now. He must have written a thousand words to his brother, sent to his last known address, but after the fifth unanswered letter, he stopped trying altogether. His mother still took out a fourth plate at dinner, like she still had two sons around, not one.

The last letter thirteen-year-old him wrote contained the words:

 _Dear Itachi,_ _Mom's crying again. If you ever even loved us, don't you dare come back._ )

They make their way to the very back of the gallery, to the permanent exhibits. A floor to ceiling installation dominates the space. Wires and cords, almost human shape. It gave Sasuke the creeps, truth be told. It called to mind a grotesque experiment he had read about in school, several years back. Ino seemed intrigued by it.

Creepy is good, she says. It's just as valid a reaction as any other. Art has to do that you know? Stir you up a bit. If it doesn't then it's not any good.

After a fourth glass of champagne Ino becomes very tipsy, and offers no resistance when he takes a still half filled glass from her hand.

They run into Neji on the way back to the front displays. He's talking with a heavily tattooed bloke in a pinstripe vest and very expensive-looking shoes. Temari's brother, Ino whispers in Sasuke's ear.

Neji looks their way when Kankuro makes a rather loud greeting.

"Yamanaka," Kankuro says. "Good to see you. What do you think? Pretty good turnout, huh?"

Ino laughs, and wobbles in her shoes a bit, an act that's not lost on Neji. While Ino and Kankuro chat, he gives Sasuke a look so disapproving, making him feel like he's back in the office and just screwed something up. He almost squirms on the spot.

"Neji," Ino says when Kankuro leaves, and it's the older boy's turn to look uncomfortable. "I'm sorry I got drunk, okay? Don't be mad at Grumpy."

I'm not mad, Neji deadpans.

You're looking at him like you want to skin him alive. It's not his fault, okay? I just got nervous, is all.

You drink too much, is all Neji says in response.

Yes, yes, Ino says, grabbing both of them by the sleeves. And both of you drink too little. It's my exhibition, so we're going to celebrate my way, okay?

She laughs as she leads them toward the bar.

###

After the exhibition, Sasuke can't sleep so he goes to the rooftop, and she's there, she's always there when he least expects it. She's wrapped in an ugly blanket which she drapes wordlessly around his shoulders, and only then does he realize that he's freezing, from the crown of his head to the tips of his socked toes. Their bodies crowd toward each other, he shivers and she laughs, watching him, even in the dark her eyes are brighter than the blue expanse above them. (In certain lights, her eyes are Hopper green. A lonely color.)

He fell in love once. Someone who was all edges, just like him, a wild thing, wilder than he. But that's the thing about wild things, no matter how much you deceive yourself, you can't really tame them. You let them go. Or, in Sasuke's case, he watches them go while he does nothing, feels nothing, except self-loathing and loss.

Ino, well, what can he say. She's – she's a contradiction. She's pigment, and also shadows. Her words sharp, like they're made to cut; she makes him wear ugly sweaters and then she drapes a blanket over his shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world, and her laugh, he can feel its every vibration in his chest, her laugh feels like the universe can swallow him whole and he wouldn't even care. Half of her wants to make a home in this mess they call city, the other half is always searching, for someone or someplace, even now beside him watching the light change over the buildings, she's not really here but elsewhere, watching the skyline but not really seeing it. (She sees him but not really, there's always a name on her lips that isn't his.)

When he can't sleep he likes to watch the light change over the high-rises from the rooftop of his apartment, watch the skyline come into focus as the sky lightens, watch the city rearrange itself as morning dawns upon it.

She's a different kind of lovely, he notes, with the city as her backdrop.

He doesn't know why, but it calms him. Below, the street begins to waken. He could hear truck horns on the highway. Lights from the streetlamps going out, one by one, quietly. Office workers, in suits and polished shoes, leaving their apartments, heels clicking on the concrete. In a few hours, Sasuke would have to leave for work too. To his desk that is only one of a thousand desks in his building, which is only one of a hundred in this city alone, and he wonders, really wonders, what is it all for?

The other day, she asked him, Do you ever wish you could start over?

If he could start over, would he choose the same life, the same soul-sucking job chained to the same fucking desk, and go home to the same lifeless apartment in the same city that devoured him, dreams, bones and all.

In his heart he is searching for something or someplace else also.

Beside him, Ino yawns. The blanket falls off both their shoulders when she stretches her arms. She brings her arms back down and she says, Grumpy, it really meant a lot to me that you came to my show.

He doesn't know what to say to that so he settles for not saying anything. In the distance, he watches navigation lights from a plane as it traverses the sky.

"I'm going back to bed," she says. "Aren't you?"

He shakes his head no, he'd like to stay a bit longer. She shrugs off her end of the blanket. She gives him a little pat on the shoulder. "Here, keep this. Stay warm, Grumpy. I'll see you later."

He doesn't turn around to watch her leave, but he sees her anyway, hair golden, glimmering like early morning sun. He misses her warmth already.

###

Later, she dreams of Sai's _White City_ , over and over, until it's not a dream anymore but a vision. To no one in particular she says, Is this were you go when you want to stop hurting? To find Shin? The city of dreams and desire, where everything is illusion, nothing is ever real.

Her cheeks are damp when she wakes. On her bed, completely still, she watches the light change over the sketches scattered on the floor, the paint marks on the walls, over all of the choices that led her to this point. She thinks of Hinata, and Neji, and everything they have lost.

But we have each other, she remembers saying, that day on the station seeing Hinata off, Ino's hand on Neji's, he squeezes, she fights back tears as Hinata waves behind the glass door, smiling, off to be married, and Ino prays to god this husband-to-be doesn't hurt her, or else she'll –

In the present, her phone rings, twice, and then stops. The room refocuses, the room is still again.


End file.
